I'm Alive
by Dragon with a Shotgun
Summary: In a chaotic world full of Infected zombies, a young woman fights to stay alive. With the help of the group of survivors, she feels safe and protected. Then there's word of a functional plane, and the survivors see an opportunity to escape this Hell. But when Hannah meets, and bonds, with an unlikely being, she is torn between leaving him, and escaping the zombie-filled world.
1. Prologue

**I'm Alive**

By

Dragon with a Shotgun

**I really wasn't sure where to put this, since its is a story I made up, not based on any movies. But I did get my inspiration from Left 4 Dead. None of the characters in the game are in this story. This is my story, one I made up on my own. Enjoy!**

**Prologue **

"_Fire and life are two similar things." That's what my grandmother used to say. "They can be warm and pleasing, nice to have, but they can also be painful and cruel, dangerous. Fire can destroy, and will eliminate everything in its path. But it can also be itself exterminated, just as life can be. Life has its ups and downs, has its turns and stops. No one can tell for sure where it goes, or what fate lies in their lives. But one thing is for sure. Life has its strange ways of making things happen, whether if they are for the better, or the worse."_

_When my grandma told me this, I didn't quite understand. I was only ten. Unexperienced, young, and not sure of the world. I didn't understand much at all in fact. No one ever told me anything, for what reason I didn't know of. I didn't know evil. I didn't know what drugs were, what sex was, didn't even know what nightmares were. I lived in such a quiet world, had no imagination. Nothing ever happened in my home, no excitement, no birthday parties, no cookouts, no visitors to laugh and talk to, nothing… I had a silent life, and in school I never spoke to anybody. I had very few friends. My family was rich, but nobody ever knew that. I never told anybody, despite my mother's eager attempts to talk to the male teachers at school about her 'single life'. _

_She, Isabella James, was married to my father, Mason James. She only carried him around like a handicap though, pretended that he wasn't there, despite his hard efforts to stay on his feet at work. He was a mechanic at an old factory, although I forgot what his company made, or what it was even called. All I knew was that he went to work with oil stained overalls in a cab and came back with almost black, greasy skin and even more stained overalls. I can still remember what he smelled like. He smelled of smoke, oil, grease, and sweat from a hard day's work. He worked so hard to please my mother, but with little success. That damn woman was never easy to please. She wanted only the highest quality of things, to the shiniest of diamond necklaces, to the brightest and showing of dresses. She wanted the high dollar stuff, the things that attracted the other men. I never knew how she made money. She only left the house around when the sun set over behind the Stature of Liberty, whenever it was dark and the stars shined at night. I never knew where she went, and sometimes she wouldn't come home for days. _

_My brother, Noah, was a lot older than me. He was at least 18 years old, an adult and able to do whatever he wanted, go anywhere he wanted to go. He was never home a lot, always laughing with his friends and going illegally into bars. At least I think it was illegal… But heck, I don't remember. _

_My grandma, though, was my real family. My cousins didn't live anywhere near us. Lived down south near Dallas, Texas. So, grandma was the only one I could run to if I needed help. She used to tell me stories about what could happen to us in the future. She had told them so well, that I thought that she was actually predicting it! But I know now that she never was, but still, I like to go back and remember those tales. She told of wars going on, even if it was after WW 2 and Civil War. She told me that I needed to be careful of the world, to be wary of what could happen. _

_She also did simple things, too. She used to brush my hair, used to say, "Oh your hair is so beautiful, child. So beautiful the way it shines, the way that red and smoothness goes so well together and the way it makes your blue eyes stand out… I wish I had hair like yours again. You should take better care of it, or it will tangle and be messy."_

_Of course I did the best I could, but somehow I would let it get messy, just so I could have an excuse to hear her tell me stories, to hear her feeble, calm, soothing voice. Her voice was so nice to hear after a lonely day of school and nothing to do around the house. She always lightened up my days, made them seem to be worth living. _

_People would think that life in New York would be fun, an awesome experience. But not for me. I was used to all the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets, the honking and blasting of horns on the roads, the shouting of people on the sidewalks angry at each other for knocking one's stuff out of their hands, all of it. Life was dull, nothing to do. New York was just… too small. My mind wandered out of New York many times, questioning what was outside of the loud city. I wondered if my grandma's stories were ever true, about the wars and all. It didn't seem logical. People got into fights all the time outside on the streets and afterward they'd brush it off and go about their ways. Rarely cops were called unless the fight got too serious. You'd think that it was normal, and would be pointless to start a war. _

_The thing that really captivated me in New York was all the lights that shined and twinkled around the city. Every night I'd sit at my window of our apartment, saying nothing, and staring out our window. Some nights I'd hear my mother screaming at my father about something, but I'd just sit there, staring in a trance at the light board that changed from different images, the lights from tall towers and other buildings, and the glow that radiated off the city and into the sky. But as I watched, a tear would slip down my cheek. _

_As I looked at the city, it began to melt away. The lights began to dim, and the glowing faded away into a memory. The busy streets became quiet, still, empty. That was when I would be happy. No noise, no screaming, nothing. I was content, I was happy. Nothing could tear me away from that spot. I even slept at the window, and was patted awake by my grandma the next morning whenever it was time to get ready for school. I'd get dressed in a white t-shirt, blue plaid skirt, white knee-high socks and black strap shoes. That was what we wore in school, our uniforms. I went to a large school, but I forgot how many kids were in it… I know that there were few teachers, and more male teachers than other schools. _

_I went to the end of my sidewalk that ran up to the stairs that lead to my floor. I stood there for what seemed like hours. But after only a few minutes, I'd spot my bus. The new bright yellow-orange paint on the bus would glow in the morning sunlight. I'd already be able to hear the children screaming, laughing, and shouting. But I wouldn't be one of those kids. _

_Already I could hear Gracie's voice. Gracie was one of my only friends. She was quiet too, but she talked much more than I would. I'd let her do all the chatting, and she was happy to do it. She didn't judge me just because I was a mute. She'd tell me about her new puppy, her picnic she had at the park, the new TV show that she watched the previous night. Anything that came to mind. _

_I could hear her now…_

"_Hannah! Hannah, come on!"_


	2. Chapter 1

**I'm Alive**

By

Dragon with a Shotgun

**Chapter One**

"Hey, Ginger! Snap out of it and get your ass over here!"

I blinked, shaking my head as the world around me burned away. The school bus melted, disappeared. My home twisted back into reality and now I saw the burning and dead world of Chicago, Illinois. Buildings were leaning, windows shattered and drapes torn. The bricks on most of them were faded, old and worn. Cars around me were on fire or were in shattered pieces, some were also nose to nose from having been in a head-on collision. I could hear the fire crackle and hissed as the flames licked the air, reaching for air. We were in an alley, a large one that stretched out far from out sides. It was actually a road, but to us it was like an alley with its dark and gloomy atmosphere. I looked to my left and right, two large buildings were on either side of me, and behind me was an old restaurant with a sign that said "Gibson's Bar and Steakhouse".

I looked over at a large piece of glass that had fallen from one of the buildings. I could see my reflection in it. I studied the slightly torn leather jacket over my teal tank top shirt. I was wearing light blue jeans that came down to my white tennis shoes that were almost brown from lack of washing. My hair was in a pony-tail, darker red from not having a bath in so long. It had been cut so that it only came to my shoulders when let down. My skin had bruises, grey spots from the dirt, and was pale from being inside all the time. My eyes that were once sparkling crystal blue were now dark and almost navy colored in the shadows of the alley, like someone had spread dark grey eye shadow around them.

Turning my attention away from my surroundings and my horrible reflection, I looked over toward the source of the voice that had called. It was a blond- haired woman, a few years older than me. She had pink highlights in her hair, at the tips where they curled up slightly. It was in a ponytail at the moment, though, and the back swung as she turned her head to glare at me. She wore a dark pink t-shirt, cut at the bottom so that her stomach showed. Her jeans were a dark brown with a lot of pockets and a black leather belt running across her waist. She also had black army boots that came above her ankles, where she hid a small knife in her sock.

"I'm coming!" I shouted back, picking up my pace across the debris.

When I had arrived to her side, she gave me a funny look.

"When I tell you to get moving I mean get your ass out of the spot you are standing! What's wrong with you?" she snapped, looking over her shoulder and looking around the corner of the alley.

I looked away and muttered, "Sorry, I kinda zoned out…"

"Yeah, well, 'zoning out' can get you killed if you don't pay attention to what's goin' on around you, Ginger!"

I sighed. "Alright, alright! I already told you, don't call me Ginger!"

She snapped her head and looked at me in the eye. "As long as you work under me I can call you any damn name I wish. Now, get up there and check out the area."

She glared with her icy green eyes, silencing me before I could retort back and sending me to walk up front some ways, scouting up ahead. I looked around, narrowing my eyes as I held one of my .380 pistols up, ready to fire if necessary. I turned my head slowly, listening carefully. Dust was floating around the area, creating an eerie look to the area. There were a few cars that were actually in good shape, but there would be no gas in them, and would be useless. There was a motorcycle that lay on its side close to a wall. Now that we were out of the alley, I could see a long road that stretched from my left to my right. Cars were everywhere, some on fire, some wrecked, some in perfectly good shape but useless. Towers and other large buildings lined up the streets, signs hung out over the sidewalks, and merchant wagons were parked in the middle of the streets. I turned my head, listening for any threatening noises. I only heard silence, but that didn't stop the chills that ran up my spine.

I warily took a few steps forward, occasionally glancing back to see if Rachel was still there. She still sat there, leaned up against the wall. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, lit one, and stuck the box and lighter back into her pocket. She took a long puff, and let out a long sigh, smoke swirling around her face. I rolled my eyes, cussing her out in my mind before returning to my order.

There were eight of us in our group of survivors, three women and five men. We had met after the illness broke out, separated from our families and having no way to get home. There was Rachel Williams, of course. She was a bad woman, full of ideas and quite dangerous with a weapon. She was at least 5'8, just a little taller than me, 25 years old, only three years older than me. The thing she treasured most was her AMT Automag V, said that it belonged to her uncle who was a gunsmith. She had a lot of nicknames for me; Ginger, Screw-up, basically anything that came to her mind and stuck. I don't know why she had a stuck-up attitude toward me, but whatever the reason, she hated my guts I guessed. She had ever since she lay eyes on me.

There was Nigel Taylor, the26 year old nut of the group. Don't get me wrong, he was real good with guns. He was a buff guy, tall, but sometimes he didn't know how to use it to his advantage. But he'd sure show it off in front of Rachel. Everybody knew about his crush on her, it was like high school all over again. He was a gun freak, always excited when he found a new toy to shoot at his targets, especially the ones that exploded. He had come to Chicago with his cousin, Samuel, or Sammy, Martin to celebrate his cousin's 18th birthday, the day he 'becomes a man' in Nigel's terms. If you ask me, a boy becomes a man when he figures out how to handle a gun and learns some respect. Anyway, Nigel always picked on his cousin, always calls him Sammy just to get on his nerve.

Samuel Martin was the youngest of the group, but in my opinion one of the smartest. He was a mechanic, able to fix any machine, hotwire any care, and use any gun. He was quiet, though, usually scared when faced with danger, that's why Nigel always picked at him. But we needed him more than everybody thought. Rachel sometimes mentioned kicking him out, but I knew that we couldn't just put him out on the streets to be killed. We needed him, just as he needed us. He wasn't prepared for anything, his clothes being as if he was going to school. Collared shirts, tan capris, and track shoes.

There was Zoey Thompson and Corrie Perez. Both were black, and they had both lived together in Chicago before the illness. Corrie was nuts over Zoey, always wanting her attention, doing stupid things to make her love on him. He had planned to propose to her before they met up with us. Zoey was pretty decent, bold enough to tolerate. It was Corrie that was the problem. He was scared of everything. A noise at night would send him to each of our rooms to wake us up to check it out instead of him doing it himself. He'd even hide behind us when we went outside to look for supplies.

Lance Clark… he was a strange one. He was quiet, like me, but one would believe that he couldn't speak. He never said anything, only when the time was right, when we were all confused or unless he couldn't take our arguing. He was from Texas, was visiting Chicago with a few buddies before they all got separated. He never saw them again, and he came across our place, and we let him stay. He never had much of a family, at least of what we heard. I sometimes feel sorry for him, because he acts like he knows that the world's going to end. He actually reminded me of a silent cowboy, a lone ranger or something like that. When we had first met him, I actually took a small liking to him because of his calm demeanor.

Finally, the oldest of the group of 52 years of age, James Walker was the wisest of us all. He knew much more about the world than we did, and he pieced together what happened before the illness and what was going on in the present and then predicted what might happen. He often reminded me of my grandma. But he was stern, and also calm when the situation was right. Nigel referred to him as the 'Grandpa' of the group. He had come across us with two other men around the same age, Danny and Johnson, but they both passed away shortly after their arrival, reducing our number from ten to eight. Since then we had stuck somewhat closer together. Well, I had anyway. I had started watching out for the others more, volunteering for things that I wouldn't dare to do if I was alone. The most important rule of surviving was not thought of in my group.

There is safety in numbers.

The illness broke out silently, but hit hard. A large lion ambushing us unsuspecting prey. A lot of us died, the ones with the weaker immune systems, and the ones who were wounded and had caught the disease. It was a cure for some kind of cancer that the government tried to create, but it escaped and went wrong.

It was a classic, like on one of those movies where people turned into dead zombies and limped around and killed you or ate you alive, but the sick people didn't just die. They turned into I guess you could say something similar to zombies. At least we called them zombies. That was all we could think of to call them at the time. The people weren't dead, though. Their hearts still beat, and they're still living, but all of their memory was lost, their families, their homes, their loved ones, everything; replaced by a sickening urge to kill and devour whatever they caught. They might as well _been _dead. They were like animals. One look at you and they come running, howling and snarling like rabid dogs. They'd lunge at you, biting into what flesh they could get hold of. They'd tear you apart while you were still alive. Like hyenas that had caught a zebra in Africa on one of those National Geographic channels on TV. But they weren't rotting corpses, they looked almost healthy, but they were unnaturally pale, like vampires in movies but worse. Now these… _infected _people roamed around as far as Minnesota, Kentucky, and Arkansas, at least that's what we last heard on the news when we had last had electricity. China or any of the other continents? Who knows? They were everywhere it seemed, some came out at day, some came out at night. Depended on the type of infected. If they were newer, not as badly sick, they'd come out when the sun was up. The ones that had had the sickness longer usually stayed in the shadows and came out after dark. Not that the sun hurt them physically, I honestly don't know why they stayed in the dark. Maybe it was too hot for their pale skins during the day. Kind of like when you don't put lotion on at the beach and you get bad sunburn.

If I didn't have nightmares when I was little in New York, I sure did now. I'd see their bloodied faces in my dreams, and I'd be running from them, but not getting anywhere. They'd catch me, and I'd wake up screaming, being shaken awake by Lance.

This morning Nigel, Lance, and Corrie had gone out to find more supplies and food when it was still dark. When they hadn't come back by noon, Rachel decided to take me with her to go find them. I personally didn't want to go, but hey, gotta do what you gotta do, right? I didn't even know why she had chosen _me_. I knew one thing for sure, though. At that moment I really hated Nigel, because it was probably his fault that they had been gone for so long, as usual. And it'd be his fault if we got killed out here.

I walked forward again. I looked to my left, and froze. I saw some movement behind some large trash cans near a dumpster. My eyes wouldn't leave that area, too wary about what could've been there. A drop of sweat slowly slid down my forehead, taking its time as it slipped over a piece of hair that hung in my face. I carefully started to creep toward the dumpster, being as silent as I could. I could hear Rachel behind me, her footsteps quietly coming at least a few feet behind me. I guessed that she might've seen what I saw and wanted to check it out. Feeling more confident, I took bigger steps.

When I was at least five meters from cans, I stopped, too wary to approach any closer. I held my gun up, aiming it at the side of the dumpster. I swallowed hard, taking in shallow breaths. When I looked at my hands holding the gun, I could see that I was shaking uncontrollably. I had to admit, I was scared.

There was a silence. I didn't hear Rachel behind me anymore, and I became aware that I might have been alone in this. Would she leave me to be killed by an infected person that could be hiding behind the dumpster, to be mauled and eaten alive? I often think that she would.

My heart was racing, but it really began to pound in my chest when I saw something shift behind it. I lifted my finger to the trigger, readying myself to pull it if something rushed out to kill me. My mouth felt dry, and I couldn't swallow like I needed to. I felt a little choked up. Right when I was fixing to shoot, a dog walked out from behind the dumpster. Behind me, not too far, I heard my boss laughing at me in sheer amusement.

"Oh, fuck I wish you could've seen your face when that mutt walked out!" she cackled, bending over with her hands on her knees.

I sighed, lowering my weapon to my side. Dogs didn't get infected, they were immune to the virus even if they were bitten. The virus didn't affect animals, well, except rats, hence the scientist say that they're reactions to medicines were similar to ours. My mind started to slow down, and I frowned at Rachel.

"Oh haha, very funny!" I said sarcastically as I turned my attention back to the dog. It was solid black like a black Labrador, with pointy ears, sleek short fur, a long muzzle, and a curly tail like a husky's. It came at least to my hips. It looked like it hadn't eaten in a while, with its ribs slightly showing. It didn't look to be any kind a breed, nor could I see any kind of particular breed that could've been in it. It looked at me with its large brown eyes, studying me with what looked like a hopeful, curious expression. I kneeled down, putting my gun away. I reached into my side pouch and pulled out a piece of beef jerky. I held it out to the dog.

"Here, boy, come here." I called softly, shaking the jerky in my hand with a reassuring smile on my face.

The dog came right up as the scent of the meat reached its twitching black nose. He trotted up, licking at the food in my hand and then my wrist. Once it ate the jerky, I rubbed its ear.

"He's a friendly little thing." I commented.

"Yeah?" I heard Rachel huff behind me, "He may be friendly but he ain't no fucking little thing."

I rolled my eyes at her comment to its size, smiling at the dog. It was a pretty good size, bulky. I guessed that it may have had some Rottweiler in it, maybe. But I guessed that didn't matter. It had a brown leather collar on, but it was worn and had no tag. He licked my hand, and sniffed my shirt before licking its nose. I thought for a moment, and then I grinned as a thought struck me.

"I think I'm gonna keep him."

Rachel suddenly started coughing having choked on cigarette smoke. "What?!"

I nodded without looking at her. "Yeah, we could use a guard dog. They don't get infected, and plus he's pretty big."

"Ginger, we ain't keeping a damn dog. We have enough mouths to feed as it is." Rachel snapped walking passed me and making her way down the road.

"Ah, come on!" I objected as I stood up to follow, patting my leg for the dog to follow. "He might be of some use to us, and besides, I've always wanted a dog."

Rachel stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. "You ain't never had a dog before?"

I shook my head. It was true. I never did have a dog in New York. My mom said that she had dog allergies, but whenever I was with her and we came across a dog, she never sneezed or anything. I guessed that she just didn't like dogs, for whenever my dad mentioned getting one, she'd object to it with too much drama. I had always wanted a beagle, because I had always wanted to go bird hunting like the people riding horses in the old, fancy paintings that my mother bought one time to impress some women that came to visit. As much as I hated those times of being ignored by my mother, I sure miss them now… I wasn't always running for my life then.

My boss sighed, looking away from me for a minute. She tapped her gun against her leg, arguing with herself in her stubborn mind. Then she snapped her head to give me a serious glare.

"Fine, but you are the one that'll be taking care of the mutt." she said, walking away.

I smiled and bent down and rubbed the dog's head before following Rachel. I was glad to see that the dog followed. Poor thing probably lost its owner to the disease. It was lucky to be alive.

I and Rachel had walked for at least ten minutes. We were surprised that we hadn't seen any zombies running around. It was all quiet, even the dog didn't bark. Although he'd perk his ears at any noises that came into earshot. The sun was up all the way, making windows shine and glitter. There were a few clouds, but no sign of rain. There was no breeze, making it hot. The dog had started panting, so I took a break to let it drink some water from my bottle.

We were pretty tired by the time we heard a loud gunshot. I jumped, and my dog started to growl and bristle up, wagging its tail in excitement. Rachel looked at the dog. He was looking towards a large business building. A second later we heard a lot of very familiar laughing and screaming from behind the building in an alley along with some screeching. We stood there for a moment before a young man came running out with his arms flailing. He was black, and sheer fear was written on his face. Behind him was a woman, pale white with dark eyes wearing a purple shirt with a torn skirt. She screeched after Corrie, slobber hanging from her mouth and snot dripping from her nose. The dog had started barking loudly, shrill and booming although he didn't move from his spot.

"Corrie?" I said aloud, wondering if I was imagining it. The dog's barking was real, so I knew I couldn't have been hallucinating.

"Help! Somebody!" he cried out, but tripped over one of his untied shoes. His metal baseball bat went rolling away, leaving him unarmed. He turned and, seeing the woman nearly on top of him, let out the shrillest scream that I had ever heard come from a man.

I gasped, and pulled my pistol out, after a moment a loud bang echoed through the streets along with the scream and the woman was sent backwards and hit the ground hard. She had been only a foot from Corrie.

He panted hard, his light brown eyes wide in sheer panic. There was an awkward silence that followed the echoes of the shot. But then he scrambled to his feet. He turned around and looked at the woman.

"That's right, bitch! You won't be having a man sandwich this time!" he laughed as he flipped her off, out of breath, before turning back to us.

I rolled my eyes and put my gun back in my belt before walking up to him. "You alright? Where are the others?"

He licked his lips, panting still. "I'm absolutely fine unlike that bitch that just tried to take a bite out of my ass."

"Corrie!"

He flinched and held his hands up at Rachel. "Okay, Okay, calm down! Jeez! Nigel and Lance are back there."

"Why? Did ya miss us, girls?"

Rachel turned her head and glared at Nigel, who was walking toward us with his .270 Winchester rifle slung over his shoulder as he grinned at us. Lance was picking up the rear, looking behind them with his 12-gauge shotgun in his hands, his white cowboy hat lowered over his eyes.

"Alright, start explaining," Rachel snapped. "Why the fuck did you not come back to the camp?"

Nigel laughed amusingly and hung his rifle behind his neck on his shoulders. "Ah, just got distracted by a few zombies. Thought I'd have some target practice."

"Well next time come back with the supplies before you go shoot off your ammo!" Rachel said harshly, turning around and walking back the way she and me had come from.

Nigel merely chuckled and shrugged before turning his attention to the ground. "Who's dog?"

"Mine." I replied, bending down and petting the dog's back.

"Huh, didn't think you were a dog person." Nigel said flatly before walking after Rachel and Corrie.

I frowned after him, and then I looked at Lance as he bent down. He rubbed the dog on the side of the neck. It licked his hand and watched him with his big, glossy brown eyes. Lance chuckled quietly, a soft smile on his face as he was lost in thought about this new member of the team.

"Hey, boy." He greeted softly, letting the dog sniff his hand. After that he studied the dog for a moment before giving me a small smile.

"Got a name for 'em yet?" he asked. When I shook my head, he hummed to himself. "I'd consider Jack. Looks like it outta fit 'em.

I smiled at Lance, and nodded in agreement. He smiled warmly back, and stood back up to follow the others. I soon followed, keeping an eye on the now dubbed Jack as he followed close beside me.

After what seemed like two hours we arrived at our camp. It wasn't much. A small, three story office building with thick boards covering the inside of the windows. The brick walls were a faded red, old from the years of being painted on, and not being washed. Around the area was a wire fence about seven feet high with spikes at the top that were tied in between the wire. When we approached the fence door, I saw at least two dozen beer and coke cans lodged into the fence from where Nigel had shoved his empty cans into the fence instead of throwing them out on the ground. He often said that they resembled how many zombies that he had killed. If so, that was more than I would believe with just him. I liked to believe that he was marking how many we all killed.

"C'mon, Jack!" I called as I looked over my shoulder. Jack was sniffing at a trash can. He looked up at me and barked, his curly tail wiggling over his back before he ran after to me. I knew that he was hungry, so I thought that it would best to feed him right off when got inside. The gate door opened and after everyone went inside I let Jack go in. I followed him in but someone closed the gate for me. I smiled at Samuel. I didn't see him come out to greet us, and it almost surprised me to see him outside.

"Hey, Sam." I greeted.

He nodded back and mumbled, "Hey, Hannah."

We went inside after making sure the defenses were locked and safe. The inside of the building was very roomy, the second floor had crumbled, leaving the first, very large floor and then the stairs leading to the top floor that used to be the third. We usually kept the weapons and supplies upstairs to keep from others. We used the first floor mainly for lounging, planning out searches for supplies, eating, stuff like that. There were different rooms scattered throughout the building, and each of us had our own to sleep in. Mine was on the second top floor. I'd be keeping Jack with me there out of the way of the others.

"Hey, guys! How was it?"

I looked over at the doorway that led to an old copy room. It used to have printers in it, but Zoey occupied it now, having thrown all the machinery out. Corrie had his own room next door in a counsel office. He had wanted to be close to her, but with her wanting to be by herself with all the tension, he chose the room right next to hers.

"Me and Lance found an ice chest with some drinks and some meat in it." Nigel boasted as he placed his gun against the couch in the living room. The living room was a large, used to be a work place with miniature offices divides by walls like you see on TV. The boys had dragged a few pieces of furniture that they had found outside, and turned the place into a home I guess you could say.

"How much?" Rachel demanded.

"Ah, some sausage and packaged ham and bologna. There were a few beers in it, and a few Dr. Peppers and water." he replied flatly.

Rachel sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. She walked around a little, making me wonder about what she was thinking. We hadn't found food in a long time, and last we checked we were to a few bottles of water, one can of coke, a few pieces of candy, two or three bags of chips, and a package of turkey. That wasn't enough to feed eight of us.

"That's all you found?"

I watched as James walked into the room. He had a stern look on his face as he studied Nigel. Nigel shrugged at him casually with a cheerful grin on his face. Apparently he wasn't that worried about how much food there was. But I knew that in the future, hopefully, he would realize that we are in deep trouble.

"We might've found more than that if he hadn't decided to play 'shoot the zombies'…"

Nigel snapped his head toward Lance. "Hey, it wasn't my fault that you wandered off into that alley!"

Lance stared at Nigel for a long moment, his eyes growing dark and challenging, creating an eerie silence in the room. The only noise that was heard was Jack scratching at his ear on the floor. I thought that it would be best to leave the room, so I rubbed Jack's head and carefully walked to the stairs as quietly as I could. Jack followed as expected.

As I got further up the stairs, I heard Lance speak again.

"I thought I saw a little girl."

"Of course you saw a little girl! She was diseased!"

"I thought that she was still well."

"Oh yeah, first the dog to add to the feeding list, and then a kid. That would've been smart!" came the sarcastic tone of Rachel. I frowned at her voice. The dog wasn't going to need that much. Hell, she ate more than all of us combined! I was surprised that she didn't look like one of those cartoon sumo wrestlers. I had to keep myself from laughing as I actually imagined her looking like one.

I opened the door to my room and giggled as Jack trotted inside and jumped onto my bed. The room used to be an old workroom that occupied a large table and some computers and two printers. I had leaned the table up against the far right wall near the window. My bed was on the far side against the wall. The orange afternoon light shone through the window and gave the room an odd color. I walked over to the navy blue chest that sat against the foot of my bed and searched through it. I had found some things in other parts of the office building to put in my room, including the chest and some shelves to nail to the wall. I picked up a small bag of jerky and opened it and pulled a few pieces out.

I guessed that Jack had smelled it, for he jumped off the bed and trotted over to me panting. I smiled at him and held out a piece of the jerky. He took it from my hand and ate it eagerly in less than two seconds. After I gave him the others, I heard the others yelling downstairs. I sighed, and looked at Jack. He looked back at me, tilting his head. I smiled softly.

"Don't worry, boy. It happens all the time." He seemed to give me a doubting look. "But I guess it's better than being out there without food and no one to take care of you."

Jack whimpered, and pawed at my knee. I smiled, and stood up before walking over toward my bed. I usually went to sleep around 5:00 in the afternoon or so. I was a long sleeper. I could sleep for longer than eight hours. So the others were used to me being away from them around this time. Not that any of them, besides Lance and James, really worried about me too much.

I slipped off my shirt and threw it to the foot of the bed. I stepped out of my shoes, hopped out of my pants and threw them on top of my shirt. I pulled out the hair tie in my hair and shot it with my fingers at the small table, hitting the wall before bouncing onto the table. I had always had a good shot, sometimes used to flick bands at my friends in school. In the mirror, I was wearing a blue bra and underwear. I didn't feel comfortable being undressed, fully naked in the building, especially with men in it and also a zombie apocalypse going on. I mean, who would?

Jack was lying at the pillow, but he moved when I sat down. I slid under the comforter, which was white with rainbow shape designs. While I lied there, I began to think about the time I had been with the group. They were always fighting, but never had a fist fight broken out. But still, all the same it worried me. I made me ponder over whether somebody, most likely Lance, was going to leave the team, or group.

I worried for Lance. Always had. He was always getting annoyed with Nigel's joking and taunting, how the man always wanted to use the zombies as a new sport to his pleasure. I knew just as well as Lance did that Nigel would get himself killed by being the way he was. Nigel was childish, stupid, and never thought about the consequences of his actions.

But, I rolled my eyes and closed them. I knew that I needed my sleep. But after a few minutes, I heard a knocking on my door. I sat up and put on my shirt.

"Come in." I made sure that my lower half of my body was covered before the door slowly opened, and I saw someone poke their head in. I smiled in relief that it wasn't Rachel, but Lance himself. He looked behind him, and hesitantly entered the room. He took off his hat and nodded in greeting to her.

"Sorry if I woke you up." He looked down, and I could see a little blood creeping into his cheeks. He had seen me without my clothes before, not completely nude, but enough to send him into slight hysterics and leave the room. I hadn't said anything about it to the others, which he was utterly grateful for. Now, having known me for quite some time, he was a little more used to entering my room, with my permission of course.

"Its fine, I wasn't asleep yet anyway." I assured, smiling at him as I drew my knees up to my chest.

He took in a sharp breath and then let it out slowly. He brought his hand out from behind his back, and waved a leather strap in his hand. It was brown, and looked like a very small belt.

"I thought that maybe we could make Jack a new collar." he said in a low voice.

I saw the sincerity in his eyes, and smiled in return, nodding. He smiled and walked over to the bed. But as he got closer, Jack perked his ears and let out a small but very noticeable growl. I laughed at how protective he had so suddenly became and at the way Lance had held his hands up in defense. But when Lance kneeled down on the floor, Jack jumped down and trotted over to him. Lance smiled at him as he received licks on his face from Jack, chuckling. I had never seen him with such a lively smile, like I was watching him as a kid getting a new puppy. It was nice to see someone with this kind of expression out of all the frightened ones you could have in the world we lived in today. Seeing somebody smile… it just… put some kind of hope in your heart. You know? It made me, in my opinion, feel in high spirits to know that there was still some sort of happiness in this world.

Lance cut the old and worn collar off of Jack's neck, and then wrapped the brown belt around the black dog's neck to replace it. He cut the extra length off before fitting the collar perfectly. He smiled at his small accomplishment.

"There! Good as new!" he smiled at Jack, and then at me. I returned his smile, laughing a little.

"Thanks, Lance. Appreciate it." I watched as he tipped his hat at me, a small smile on his lips as he gazed at me calmly, and then turned to leave out the door. He closed the door shut behind him, leaving her alone with her new dog.

Like I said, Lance was a strange one. But there was no wonder why I had grown onto him so quickly.


End file.
